Summer - The Saving of Draco Malfoy
by Merrick Mayfair
Summary: "It was a hot afternoon, the last day of June, and the sun was a demon". Draco Malfoy is on the run, following the death of Albus Dumbledore. But who is the mysterious witch in the crimson robes, and what does she want with Draco? My first ever story, now revised and republished in five chapters to include the sequel which was five years in the making. Rated T, just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

_To everyone waiting for my next installment in the Keeping the Stars Apart verse - next week - I promise. I just needed to focus on something else for a little while..._

 _This was my very first story. The first three chapters were originally a one shot of the same name which I published five years ago, with the intention of writing a sequel._

 _Three months later I sat down and wrote the first chapter of the sequel, got distracted, and was never able to pick it up again. Consequently, it has been sitting on my PC for five years and I am pleased to say that it is finally finished.._

 _The story starts shortly after the end of The Half Blood Prince, then takes a rather different direction._

 _Rated T just to be safe._ _As usual, to my great regret, I do not own any of JKR's amazing characters. I just borrow them to play with occasionally. Neither do I own the lyrics of Bobby Goldsboro's Summer (The Very First Time) which was the inspiration for this story._

* * *

 _It was a hot afternoon, the last day of June, and the sun was a demon_ ….

Under a sky the colour of sapphires the heat crawled over Diagon Alley like a living thing, smothering everything it touched in a breathless suffocating blanket. Those few brave souls that were foolhardy enough to venture out in the middle of the day clung to the scant shade, and cast longing glances at the burnt out and boarded up frontage of what had been Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. But Fortescue had "disappeared" in a Death Eater raid six months ago, and in these troubled times, no one was interested in re-starting something as frivolous as an ice cream shop.

 _The crowds were afraid, one-ten in the shade, and the pavements were steaming…._

Inside the Leaky Cauldron everything was similarly quiet. Despite Tom's cooling charms the bar was still uncomfortably warm, and few were tempted to linger and talk, when who knows who might be listening. A few regulars dozed over their drinks and in the corner, shielded from view by the rickety staircase that led to the bedrooms, a hooded figure was get seriously stuck into a bottle of Tom's Firewhisky. With his white blonde hair charmed an undistinguished shade of brown and his hood pulled well down to shield his face even his best friend would have had a hard time recognising the Slytherin Prince now. On the run from the Death Eaters as well as the Order of the Phoenix since the recent debacle on the top of the Astronomy Tower Draco Malfoy had little money, no friends and nowhere left to run; hence his current expedition into the bottom of a bottle.

Truth be told, He Who Must Not be Named's newest recruit was discovering that he had little stomach for life as a Death Eater. How many seventeen year olds got to celebrate their coming of age by failing to murder a disarmed old wizard in cold blood, he thought bitterly. He had finally seen the reality of the life his father had brainwashed him into and he didn't like it – at all. With a sigh Draco downed the rest of the contents of his glass, and rested the cool surface against his pale cheek. What was the alternative? The Ministry would send him straight to Azkaban, and Potter and his little gang would kill him as soon as look at him. No – there was no alternative. Draco Malfoy was going straight to hell on a hippogriff. If the Dark Lord let him live that long. A pale hand – not entirely steady - reached for the Firewhisky bottle, and as he did so he looked up from the table, and across the bar.

He hadn't heard the door open – sloppy he chided himself - but he was certain that she must have only just arrived. It was the sound of her footsteps on the wooden floor that had caused him to look wearily upwards. A woman was standing by the bar, talking softly to Tom. He smiled, nodded, and slipped a key over the bar; with a rustle of her light summer robes the woman turned and headed for the stairs. She paused, barely a heartbeat, as warm honey coloured eyes met storm grey across the room; but then, with the barest nod of acknowledgement she moved on, leaving Draco to his misery.

 _She was just walking by, when I looked in her eye, and I swore it was winking_

Her footsteps echoed across the ceiling, and Draco groaned softly, turning back to his bottle. And stopped, hand outstretched. Materialising on the stained wooden surface was a rose, a perfect damask rose, softly perfumed, it's silken petals the exact deep rich crimson of the mysterious witch's robes. Tied to the stem was a note – written in an elegant cursive hand were the words

" _Room Seven"…_

 _xx0xx_

What was he doing? Draco thought, as he mounted the stairs. He didn't have the first idea who this woman was, for all he knew she was his deranged Aunt, under a glamour. If it was, he'd be crucioed before he'd even stepped through the door. Merlin and all Founders forbid she let her lapdog Greyback loose on him. Putting that horrifying image firmly to the back of his mind, Draco took a deep breath and knocked on the door of Room Seven, stepping back, startled as the door swung silently open.

The room was blissfully cool but full of sunlight as he stepped inside, blinking somewhat after the relative dimness of the bar and corridor. Despite staying at the Cauldron on many occasions, he'd never been into this room before, his parents preferred the slightly darker Room Nine for its views of the Alley, whereas this room looked across Muggle London. Nonetheless it was a large pleasant room, with a seating area at one end and a large curtained bed, in the centre.

"Good afternoon Draco." The woman's voice was soft and musical, but held a decisive note, clearly conveying that she was not some piece of fluff to be trifled with.

Immediately, he was on his guard, reaching for his wand. "How do you know my name?"

She emerged from a shadowed archway at the back of the room and stepped into the sunlight for the first time. A small smile played across her lips "I know many things Mr Malfoy. I know that you are no Death Eater, that you may be in need of a friend right now and perhaps…" her nose wrinkled as she came closer "a bath and a meal?"

He lowered his wand, looking down ruefully at his rumpled clothing and scowled, suddenly more schoolboy than desperate fugitive. "I've been on the run for two weeks now, I don't think I've done too badly. _Scourgify_ is alright, but it's not quite the same as a hot shower"

"Please" she said with a smile "help yourself" she gestured back towards the archway. "In the meantime I will see what can be done about clean clothes - and a meal." ' _Food_ ' – with a grateful smile Draco pushed his suspicions aside, and headed for the shower.

The bathroom was spacious and old fashioned, with a big claw footed bath in the centre of the white tiled room. The shower above was more modern, but everything was clean and inviting. Best of all was the pile of thick fluffy towels, kept to the perfect temperature by a light warming charm. Shedding his greying muggle shirt and jeans Draco moved over to the mirror and winced at what he saw. His usually immaculate white blonde mane was now a non-descript mid brown and flopped any-which-way around his face, which was sorely in need of a shave. ' _Hmm – blonde stubble' he thought, rubbing a calloused hand over his chin 'need to watch that in future_ '. He stepped back a little, and looked himself up and down. Never given to putting on weight, he was showing the evidence of a hard year, and two weeks living rough with little to eat. His ribs and hip bones were protruding significantly more than usual and his lean, Quidditch-honed body was decorated with now-yellowing bruises, relics of the recent fight at Hogwarts. Fortunately the _sectumsempra_ wounds - inflicted, it seemed a lifetime ago, by Potter - were healed, although the scars across his chiselled abdomen were still livid against his pale skin. Unable to resist the lure of the big bath, he turned on the taps, filling the room with steam. Removing his underwear, he was preparing for a much needed soak, when he was startled by a knock on the door, followed by the voice of the witch.

"If you could pass out your clothing Mr Malfoy, I can get it cleaned for you". Securing a towel around his waist Draco obeyed. Meeting the witch in the doorway he felt her eyes running over his exposed torso, and was mortified to feel the heat burning in his face. Scooting back into the bathroom, he closed the door on her, a little faster than was perhaps polite. Leaning against the door, he groaned with embarrassment. ' _Well done Malfoy. Very cool. One look from a witch and you're blushing and stuttering like a bloody_ _Weasley_ _for Salazar's sake. I mean – I suppose you didn't quite slam the door in her face, but you weren't far off it. Slick Draco, very slick_.' With a sigh he shed his towel, and sank his weary body into the tub with a moan of ecstasy. If this witch was going to kill him, at least he would die clean – and hopefully fed too.

It was a very different Draco that emerged, nearly an hour later, wrapped in one of the thick fluffy robes thoughtfully provided by the management. His hair still needed a cut, but it was, for now, back to its normal pale shade, he was clean, shaved and very _very_ hungry. Stepping cautiously into the bedroom, his nose was tickled by the tantalising aroma of the Leaky Cauldron's excellent catering, prompting his stomach to rumble in anticipation.

"Welcome back Mr Malfoy" the witch's voice, just behind his shoulder, made him jump. "I hope that you are feeling better." Reaching up, she brushed a lock of soft, damp hair away from his face, and smiled. "Much improved. I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself. My name is Morrigan, and I am here to help you. I think at the moment that that is all you need to know."

 _She was thirty one, I was seventeen  
I knew nothing about love, she knew everything  
So I sat down beside on the front porch swing  
And wondered what the coming night would bring_

She was standing close – much too close for the comfort of a teenage wizard – who was acutely aware that he was naked beneath his robe. She was a little below medium height, now at his full height of six-one, her head barely reached his shoulder; slender but sweetly curvaceous. He could see the shimmer of deep auburn in her dark hair, which was twisted up, secured by an elaborate silver and garnet comb. She was older than him, for certain, perhaps in her early thirties, but her skin was flawless, with a soft sheen of gold. Below long lashed eyes the colour of warm honey her nose was dusted with freckles, which somehow made her beauty more approachable. More human. Draco realised that he had somehow forgotten how to breath, and was blushing like a fool again.

 _Her shoulders were bare, and I tried not to stare, as I looked at her two lips_

He was unable to resist allowing his eyes to drop from her face, to her long slender neck, to the low, swelling neckline of her crimson silk robe. To the pendant, which lay on the soft tempting curve of her breasts, a magnificent garnet, engraved with a bird in flight.

"The crow" she said softly, "Totem of my namesake, the Celtic Goddess of War, Life and Death. It was the gift of a friend."

"A lover?" Draco didn't know where the question had come from. His brain seemed disconnected from the rest of him somehow, and the subtle musky sweetness of her perfume was playing hell with his concentration.

Morrigan quirked an eyebrow. "You are impertinent Mr Malfoy" she tapped him playfully on the nose. "But yes – a lover – once, a long time ago. He has passed on now." For a moment her eyes clouded with remembered sorrow. Then her face cleared, as Draco's stomach reminded him again that it was a long time since his last meal.

"But come, the stasis charm will not last indefinitely. You must eat." She gestured to the table, where a bowl of steaming soup, bread, cheese, fruit, and what looked suspiciously like his favourite apple pie and custard, were waiting for him. Morrigan retrieved her wand from the sleeve of her robes and pointed to an empty flagon. "Would you prefer Butterbeer, or Pumpkin Juice with your meal?"

The food was every bit as good as he had hoped, and Draco attacked it with a ferocity that would have rivaled Ron Weasley. His hostess left him in peace to eat, going down into the bar to speak to Tom once more. When she returned he was asleep on the sofa, sprawled over its inadequate length like a Great Dane puppy. Morrigan smiled, and used a levitation charm to transfer him from the sofa onto the much more appropriate sized, and comfortable, bed. Taking a book from the shelf she sat down quietly on the sofa. But she did not read. Instead she gazed thoughtfully out of the window, watching a soft summer evening descend upon the London skyline.


	2. Chapter 2

_The darkness beckoned Draco into its depths. Echoing around his head were the screams of the tortured and dying, his aunt's insane laughter. Fenrir Greyback's snarling face, and Voldemort sinister, deformed visage swam before his eyes, skeletal fingers reaching for his throat as his mother's voice sobbed and begged him not to leave her. He tried to escape, to move, but he could only watch and wait for death, paralysed._

"Draco" _through the chaos, a gentle voice was calling him._

"Draco" _He could feel a cool gentle hand on his face, coaxing him gently away from his horrors. He opened his eyes..._

Morrigan was sitting on the edge of the bed, sponging his face with something cool and soothing

"You were having a nightmare"

Draco frowned, trying to collect his thoughts. "I'm sorry, I've had them a lot recently. It's why I haven't slept much. It's not much fun waking up screaming when you're on your own in a field somewhere. Speaking of which, you have been very kind, but I really should be on my way, if I could have my clothes back please"

Morrigan smiled "You're not going anywhere Draco. You need to rest, and get your head together. You can't keep running. Sooner or later the Death Eaters will find you. You're safe here though. I have warded this room against all comers." She laid a slender finger on his heated cheek "Even room service can't get in unless I let them."

Draco was flustered by her close proximity, the darkness in her eyes, and the sudden realisation that the belt of his robe had come undone during his nightmare, revealing rather more of him than he was entirely comfortable with. As he stammered an apology, struggling to sort himself out, he became aware that Morrigan was watching his discomfort with an unfathomable expression. Bollocks – he was blushing _again_.

"Draco!" Morrigan's voice was suddenly husky "do I have this all wrong?"

He looked up, meeting her eyes, reluctantly

"Is this possible, that Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Sex God – is actually a _virgin?"_

' _Bollocks, bollocks and triple bollocks – rumbled!'_

If he was blushing before, now he was on fire….. "I've been busy" he muttered defensively "you know, headmasters to murder, dark lords to follow, prisoners to torture. Don't ask me where my bloody reputation came from. I think these girls just make things up to make themselves look good" Utterly humiliated, he examined the elaborate bedspread he was laying on, unable to look her in the eye, unable to bear the contempt that he knew would be there.

But she didn't taunt him. Leaving the bed, with a flick of her wand, Morrigan closed the curtains, shutting out the darkening evening. Walking over to the other side of the room, she removed her pendent, shoes, and with a toss of her head, sent her piled up hair cascading around her shoulders. With a wave of her hand she lit the candles around the room, then held her hand out to Draco. Confused but obedient, he left the bed and went to her.

How dark her eyes were suddenly, and the candlelight, playing across her face, threw her bone structure into sharp relief; she seemed exotic, mysterious, ageless, almost - he fancied - like The Morrighan after which she was named. Goddess of life and death. Mesmerised he watched a slender finger reach for his face, shivering as it ran down his cheek, traced the hard line of his jaw, then down a single rigid tendon in his neck to rest on the pulse point at the base of his throat. Drawing a ragged breath he bent his head to kiss her…

 _Then she looked at me, I heard her softly say,  
"I know you're young and don't know what to do or say,  
but stay with me until the sun has gone away,  
and I will chase the boy in you away._

 _xx0xx_

The sun breaking through a chink in the curtains woke Draco Malfoy from the first dreamless sleep he had known for a long time – at least since he had been given that dreadful task by the Dark Lord. Sprawled naked, face down on the bed, the sheet twisted around his hips, his face buried in a pillow still scented with the perfume of her hair and skin.

 _We sat on the sand – and the boy took her hand  
But I saw the sun rise as a man…_

Groaning, he sat up, suddenly aware of a number of definite, but very pleasant aches in various muscles hitherto unused and also that he was alone in the large curtained bed. Memory flooded back. His inexperience notwithstanding, it had been a wonderful, unforgettable night. She had been patient with his lack of experience, teasing and gently instructing when necessary, there had been no shame, no embarrassment. Just her touch on him, her skin under his hands, and laughter, he had never imagined that there would be laughter. A symphony of lips and hands and skin and unimaginable pleasure. The busy muggle streets beneath their windows had long since fallen silent when he finally fell asleep, replete, happy and completely exhausted.

"Good morning"

She was seated on the sofa, a pot of coffee and some warm rolls on the table before her. His stomach clenching with hunger Draco rolled off the bed, pulling the sheet around him, and joined her, still bleary eyed, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair .

At first she just let him eat, but as he demolished his third roll, she eyed him over the rim of her coffee cup.

"Draco – what happened to your back?"

He looked up, suddenly wary. In the showers at school he had always been careful to use a glamour to cover the scars which crisscrossed his back, shoulders and thighs. Last night, and this morning, the necessity had never crossed his mind. Now she had seen….

He shook his head, "It's nothing"

But her eyes held his "Is it your father that beats you?"

He shrugged. "He did. These days _crucio_ is so much less effort."

"How long has this been going on?"

She had seen all of him now. It seemed useless to start lying at this point.

"I was five." He wasn't asking her for sympathy, this was all he had ever known, and the witches heart clenched with pity in response.

"My father found me playing hide and seek with the gardener's son. ' _Conduct unbecoming of a pure-blood, and a Malfoy'_." His sarcastic tone was bitter "Since then, quite regularly. Whenever Potter beat me at Quidditch, whenever Granger got better marks than me – how dare I be bettered by a blood traitor and a mudblood. Oh – and whenever I was afraid – which was often. I've spent my whole life disappointing him. Now I've failed the Dark Lord, refused the Dark Mark, and on top of everything else I've run away. I could never go back. He would kill me himself." He was horrified to hear the unmistakeable wobble of emotion in his voice.

Angrily – unwillingly he scrubbed away the tears. "I don't know what I'm doing. Malfoys don't cry. Malfoys don't turn their back on their pure blood status." He was pacing the room now, still clad only in the sheet around his hips, which was unravelling rapidly. "I hate him – I've always hated him I think. I've been a snob and a git and bully. But I'm not one of them. I'm not a killer – but I've got nowhere else to go. I don't know what to do. Even my mother won't help. She loves me – but she's a pure blood, and no pure blood ever breaks ranks." He sighed in frustration. "I don't even believe in that pure-blood crap anymore – haven't done for years. How can I – when I'm constantly out-performed and out manoeuvred by a muggle born and a half blood. It doesn't even make any bloody sense!"

His anger induced energy failing, to be replaced by despair. He subsided onto the bed, leaning his wet face against the bedpost.

"Maybe I should just hand myself back to The Dark Lord. With a bit of luck he might kill me quickly. If I'm unlucky he'll hand me over to my Aunt and her pet dog first". With a shudder he turned away, studying the clouds through the window, embarrassed by his wrenching candour.

"What about the Order of the Phoenix?"

He swung back to her, suddenly angry in his despair. "Potter! The Boy Wonder thinks I killed Dumbledore! He knows that I nearly killed that girl with the necklace, and the bloody Weasel with that mead. He'd have me in Azkaban before I could draw breath."

Morrigan's voice was carefully neutral "Would you help them – if you could?"

Draco's face was in his hands by now, muffling his voice. "Yes. I know that my only hope now is for Potter to defeat The Dark Lord. There's a lot I could tell them. But I wouldn't know where to start."

"You could start by telling me where to find Voldemort!"

Potter's voice from the other end of the room projected Draco off the bed, and sent him leaping for his wand. But Morrigan was quicker. Intercepting him, she stilled him with a hand on his arm.

"It's alright Draco. I summoned Harry here this morning, under his invisibility cloak. I wanted him to know the truth. You wanted a way out – well maybe this is it"

Standing naked and wandless in front of his nemesis was not Draco's idea of a way out, but desperate wizards couldn't be choosers. Lifting his chin he turned and faced his arch-rival across the room.

"Put some clothes on for Merlin's sake Malfoy. We need to have our first adult conversation".

Behind him, he heard a pop as Morrigan – her work done – dissaparated.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to everyone that has read, favourited and followed this story. This first chapter is a little shorter than usual, before we go into the sequel in chapter 4._

 _I try to make a point not to beg for reviews - but that isn't to say they aren't appreciated... :) that was unsubtle even for me... ;)_

 _The final chapter will be posted at the weekend. Thank you so much for reading. As always, I do not own JKR's characters, I just borrow them sometimes._

 _One Warning._ _This chapter contains a passing reference to a highly inappropriate sexual relationship. This is fiction, and the relationship is a plot device. I absolutely do not condone this kind of behaviour in real life._

 _MM x_

* * *

 _Ten years have gone by, since I looked in her eye but the memory lingers  
I go back in my mind, to the very first time,  
Feel the touch of her fingers._

The twenty-seven year old Head of the Department of Mysteries stepped away from the apparition point, into the sunny gardens of Malfoy manor, taking a moment to breathe in the heady fragrance of a warm summer evening.

" _Daddy! Daddy!"_

Two year-old Scorpius, his shock of blonde curls on end, charged headlong across the lawn, hauling himself at his father's kneecaps. Picking him up, Draco smiled at his son's squeals of delight, as he swung him over his head. Pretending to drop him, Draco pulled his son into his arms, burying his face in the child's hair, listening to him chattering nineteen to the dozen.

"Aunty Ginny's here Daddy. And Tibby's made her special biscuits. We've kept some 'pecially for you see" opening his hand he looked down in dismay at the sticky crumbs that were all that had survived the journey across the garden. Looking back at his father, his big grey eyes filled with tears

"They bwoked Daddy" his bottom lip wobbled ominously.

"That's alright sweetheart. It was a very nice thing to do." Putting the child down and retrieving a handkerchief before his son and heir could wipe his sticky, crumby hands all over his tailored grey robes, Draco whispered in his ear "I bet Tibby's got some more back in the kitchen. Let's go and say hello to Mummy and Aunty Ginny, then we'll go and ask her shall we?"

" 'Kay Daddy." Walking slowly across the manicured lawns, Draco was content to listen to Scorpius's childish chatter. "Mummy's getting very fat now Daddy. I think she must be eating too many of Tibby's biscuits. Aunty Ginny says Unca' Harry's gone to watch Teddy playing Quidditch today, but he'll be here tomorrow with Teddy an' James an' Albus. And Mummy says we're going to have a barbe barb – well sausages for dinner"

"Lovely" said his father with a smirk that entirely evaded his son's notice. Working with Harry and the Weasleys; finding the Horcruxes and ultimately vanquishing the Dark Lord, had done much to mend the wounds of the past, but the idea of the entire Potter contingent descending on the Manor for a muggle style barbecue was still enough to raise a delicate pure blooded shudder.

Walking through the archway into the rose garden, Draco found his wife and Ginny Potter sharing a pot of tea in the arbour.

"Hello darling" Hermione Malfoy hauled her swollen body out of the chair to greet her husband. At nearly ten months pregnant, it was no longer possible for him to hug her from the front, so he settled for hugging her from the back, burying his nose in her now-sleek dark curls. Reaching up he plucked a rose from the arbour, and with a swift de-thorning charm he tucked it behind her ear, before he moved to kiss Ginny, who was also pregnant, although not as far on as her friend.

"DADDY! BIKKITS! COME ON" Draco sighed. For all his Malfoy looks, Scorpius was as unstoppable as his mother sometimes.

"Excuse me ladies, we will leave you in peace. Scorpius and I are off in search of Tilly's legendary biscuits. Wish us luck on our epic quest" With a wink, Draco swung his son onto his shoulders and set off towards the house.

Returning to their tea, Hermione retrieved the rose from behind her ear, and turned it thoughtfully in her fingers. It's deep crimson petals were flawless, it's scent exquisite. She looked up at her friend and smiled softly.

Ginny raised an eyebrow "Did you ever tell him?"

Abandoning their tea, the two pregnant women walked slowly across the grass. "No" Hermione admitted with a grin. "I suppose I will do – one day. But I don't think I'm quite ready to answer his questions about my 'research' methods just yet. Going from 17 year old swotty schoolgirl to 31 year old sex goddess was a bit of a jump. Thank Merlin for your husband's randy godfather. A two week Christmas Holiday at Grimmauld Place with Sirius 'the Gryffindor Sex God' Black was even better than the restricted section of Hogwarts Library. I didn't realise then how glad I would be of it two years later."

Ginny choked. "I knew that Sirius was your first. But I didn't realise you were only 15! You bad girl little Gryffindor you"

"Well you know what they say" Hermione responded with a wink "it's the quiet ones you have to watch. I'm just surprised that Harry went for it. Desperation makes strange bedfellows. Literally in my case. It's a good thing Ron never found out _exactly_ how Draco came to join the Order, or we would have had murder at Grimmauld Place. Come on, it's just too hot. Let's go inside where it's cool".

Still talking, the two women walked arm in arm up the steps and across the terrace, into the gracious old house."

The sunny garden was quiet.

 _It was a hot afternoon, the last day of June, and the sun was a demon….._


	4. Chapter 4

_Malfoy Manor. Years later..._

Draco hadn't intended to pry...

Hermione had floo called him from the Ministry in a flat panic after lunch. The briefing parchments that she needed for her three o clock meeting were still on her desk at the Manor. Would he mind getting them please? Tibby could bring them over to her if it was easier, but she would prefer it if she didn't go into Hermione's study. Even free elves have an insane desire to tidy up, and the last time Tibby had "cleaned" up for her, it had taken Hermione weeks to find anything.

Laying down his copy of the Prophet with a sigh Draco walked up the stairs to the two adjoining rooms that he and his wife of the past 27 years used as studies. Hermione's study was warded, but only against small grandchildren, house elves and intruders. The big mahogany door admitted Draco without protest. There were some advantages to being the Master of the House.

He paused for a moment to appreciate the beauty of the room. Heavy gold brocade curtains hung at the huge bay window where her desk stood, turned slightly so that she could enjoy the stunning views of the herb garden below. Draco knew very well that in the summer evenings the air in the room would be heavy with the scents of the hundreds of herbs, grown for domestic as well as magical use. The walls were predominantly decorated with Hermione's personal collection of books, which was starting to rival the Manor's library in size, but the floor to ceiling bookshelves were interspersed with panels of gold brocade, on which hung examples of his wife's taste in art, both magical and muggle. In pride of place, over the fireplace, was a magnificent oil painting of Hermione herself, Draco had commissioned it to celebrate Hermione's investiture as Minister for Magic, five years ago. In a smaller panel to the left was a beautiful little muggle oil painting of a girl with a rose. It had never particularly appealed to Draco, although he suspected that Hermione had chosen it for the girl's resemblance to their youngest daughter Lyra. It was, Draco noticed with a frown, crooked, which was unusual. Most paintings in the Manor were charmed to always hang straight. Collecting the pile of parchment from the desk he paused to straighten the picture as he left the room...

As the picture moved there was a distinct clunk from behind it.

Mindful of his wife – no doubt wearing out an expensive ministry carpet as she waited for her papers, (it was ten minutes to three by Draco's pocket watch) he stepped into the corridor and called for Tibby. Instructing her to deliver the parchment urgently to her Mistresses' office, he went back to the study, carefully resetting the wards behind him. Returning to the picture, he pushed it back to its original position; once again, the mechanical clunk was heard from the panelling behind. But nothing happened. Perplexed Draco examined the picture once more. It was Dutch he knew, Hermione had told him it was almost certainly 17th Century. The little girl in a window leant her cheek onto her hand, gazing past him out of the picture. Soft dark blonde curls tumbled over her shoulder, and in her other hand was a crimson rose; drops of dew still clung to the velvety petals, but one had dropped already, and was lying on the windowsill.

A crimson rose.

Draco reached out, his eyes soft with old memories, as he ran a gentle finger over the painted petals. Just as his fingertips caught on a small bump behind the canvas, the panel that the portrait hung on swung open.

Stunned Draco stepped back sharply, stumbling into one of the comfortable sofas that flanked the fireplace. A secret panel? He'd lived in the manor all his life; it was part of his blood and bones. His very magic was woven into its ancient stones. Aside from some of the most disreputable areas of the cellar, frequented by some of his more dubious ancestors, including his father (areas now safely warded against all comers except himself) he knew every nook and cranny inside and out, including its priest holes, secret passageways and hidey holes, and Draco was absolutely certain that whatever he had found was not a relic of his family's ancient past – it was there because Hermione had put it there.

He had come this far. He had to know.

If his hands shook a little as they opened the panel, Draco would have denied it vehemently. The space inside was not particularly large - reaching into the darkness, Draco's fingertips encountered what was undoubtedly polished wood. Carefully drawing the object out, he found a beautifully crafted wooden box. Utterly plain, it was about the size of a small muggle suitcase, the kind that Hermione sometimes used on short business trips.

Cradling the box carefully in both hands, Draco set it gently down on Hermione's desk, took a deep breath, and lifted the lid. A tingle of magic indicated that the contents had been charmed, probably a stasis charm to preserve them. Within the box, was a set of robes. Witches robes, lightweight silk robes, for a hot summer day. Even after, what was it, 33 years; Draco remembered vividly the deep crimson shimmer of these robes. But what in Merlin's name were they doing here? Lifting them carefully from the box Draco realised that there were other objects beneath them. Putting the armful of soft fabric to one side he found a jewellery box, a letter and a book. Well, in for a sickle in for a knut Draco thought. It was a little late to wonder about the ethics of intruding into his wife's privacy now. The parchment of the letter was stiff and heavy, and to his shock Draco unfolded it to reveal the Black family crest at the top. The script was flowing and exuberant, but easy to read.

" _Dearest Hermione, this is not a family piece – it would be too dangerous to give you anything that_ _ **my**_ _family had owned, but I hope you like it. The Crow is an old Celtic symbol for the Morrighan, she who brings life and death. You have brought back life to me, and I trust that one day you will help in bringing death to the evil that threatens us all. Incidentally she is also the Goddess of War. Appropriate I thought for these times we live in._

 _Happy Christmas to you my darling girl._

 _Sirius._

Draco didn't need to open the box. He already knew what he would find within. Sure enough, there it was. The last time he had seen the stunning garnet pendent with its beautifully rendered carving of the crow it was lying on the breast of Morrigan, the mysterious and alluring stranger that had, without a doubt saved his life. In his memory, he heard her voice, telling him of the one who had given her the pendent, how her eyes had clouded with sorrow at the memory:

" _a lover – once, a long time ago. He has passed on now."_

Draco dropped bonelessly onto the sofa stunned shock replacing his earlier curiosity, as the events of that scorching summer day, so long ago, flooded his memory.

 _xx0xx_

It had been a long day thought the Minister for Magic, dusting herself down as she stepped from the fireplace in the Great Hall. When she had finally managed to get her parchments for her 3pm meeting, it had stretched out interminably, far beyond the hour and a half allotted to it. By the time Hermione had finished up, spoken to her assistant and secretary, and taken her private floo home it was nearer 5.30 than 4.30. Leaving the Great Hall, and ascending the main staircase to her office, she passed Tibby and, asking after Draco, she was informed that he had gone back into her study, and that nothing had been seen of him since. It was unusual, thought Hermione, for Draco to spend that much time in her office, but not unknown. He had probably found a book that interested him, and dozed off.

Instead, she opened her office door – and froze in shock. Her husband was seated on the sofa an open wooden box in front of him. He was clearly miles away.

"Draco Malfoy, what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?"

Draco looked up, clearly uncomfortable. "Hermione... I" unusually for him, he was clearly struggling to bring his thoughts together, and the clear grey eyes that she had loved for so very long were confused and deeply troubled. Hermione's face softened. Dropping her briefcase onto a side table, she called Tibby for some tea for them both, before joining her husband on the small sofa.

"I came into your office to get your papers, and the picture was crooked." Draco repeatedly ran a nervous hand through his pale hair, a gesture Hermione recognised all too well as a sign that he was very upset.

"I see, and you found the compartment, and decided to have a look..." that came out a little more defensively than she had intended. "...I suppose I would have done the same."

Once Tibby had served their tea and departed. Hermione squared her shoulders, unsure as to where this conversation, at least thirty years overdue, was going to go. She reached out and ran her fingers over the soft crimson silk. "I haven't seen these for so long. A lifetime ago."

Closing her eyes she allowed her mind to drift back to those dark days immediately following Professor Dumbledore's death.

"Did Harry ever tell you that he was on the astronomy tower that night?" she asked. Draco shook his head his eyes wide. "He and Dumbledore had been searching for the Slytherin locket that night - when he realised what was happening Dumbledore petrified Harry under his invisibility cloak. Harry saw everything.

I had been convinced for some time that your heart wasn't given to Voldemort's cause. What Harry told me that night just confirmed it. I was desperate to reach out to you if I could - there was no need for you to go further down that path than you were already."

"So it was your idea. We never really talked about it - I had always assumed that Dumbledore had recruited M- Morrigan and set it up."

Hermione shook her head. "It was mainly my idea with support from Harry. Obviously we knew that you would be useful to our cause - but that wasn't the main reason." Hermione looked up at him and smiled softly. "Despite everything I think I was half in love with you already. During that last year at school I couldn't stop thinking how worn down and afraid you seemed. Harry wasn't the only one that was worried about you."

Draco scowled. "And you couldn't resist the chance to rescue and redeem the 'bad boy'?"

Hermione shrugged. "What can I say - I'm a sucker for a lost cause."

"Did Harry know how far you were prepared to go - or was screwing me part of the plan from the start?"

Hermione's smile was positively wicked. "Well it was always in MY plan. Harry was aware that it was a possibility." She chuckled. "I can't say he didn't try to talk me out of it. But don't forget that I had no idea at this stage that you felt the same. The fact that I got one incredible night with you - was your first in fact, although I didn't know that at the time. That was just for me.

At the time, Harry was convinced I was making the ultimate sacrifice for the cause. I think he consoled himself with the idea that it wouldn't be necessary, that I would slip something into your pumpkin juice and sleep innocently on the sofa until he arrived to 'rescue' me. She shook her head smiling. "Bless him he was so shocked when he turned up that morning and found you naked and that bed looking like a battlefield. Apparently it was so obvious we might as well have just put up a sign. And I didn't even have the decency to be traumatised afterwards. I strutted around for days like the kneazle that got the cream"

So lost was she, smiling at her memories, that she hadn't seen the way Draco was gradually closing down...

When he failed to speak to her, she turned, to find herself looking at a Draco Malfoy that she hadn't seen for a very long time. The beautiful, cold pure blood mask, so familiar from her years at Hogwarts was back in place, his grey eyes glittering with hurt and anger.

"Draco...?"

"I searched for her" he whispered. "All through the war and after, I searched for her. But no one knew who she was. In the end, I assumed that she was dead, that Voldemort had killed her for what she had done – because of me." The mask slipped "I mourned her – I felt guilty... and all these years you knew. Potter knew! Who else has been laughing behind my back for the last thirty odd years?"

Her chickens were coming home to roost with a vengeance. She avoided his eye, suddenly guiltily aware that she had never considered that Draco might have harboured feeling for her alter-ego. "Ginny knew, but not until much later." She winced at the look of utter betrayal on her husband's face.

He jack-knifed off the sofa, as if unable to be so close to her any more. "I don't even think I know you anymore. Maybe I never did." He shook his head in disgust. "You slept with Sirius Black when you were what – 15 – 16? Then you used the tricks you learned from him to lure me in.

If you'd been honest from the start it might have been easier to deal with. But to say nothing for all of those years..." Clearly he had nothing more to say. Without another word he turned on his heel and slammed out of the room.

Hermione walked over to the window, gazing blindly at the garden below. Looking down, she was surprised to see that her hands were shaking. Biting her lip, she struggled to hold it together.

"Draco.."


	5. Chapter 5

_The final chapter. It's been lovely to finally finish this story after all these years, not to mention the chance to correct a few clunky bits of writing that have made me twitch every time I read them. I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Thank you to those that have read followed and favourited. I would be really grateful if you could let me know what you think - even if it's only "It's rubbish - stop writing - please."_

 _For those still waiting for "One Hand One Heart". Real life has caught up with me a bit recently, and this weekend is going to be an absolute doozy, but providing I survive it, the first part - a two shot, will be going up on Monday. Have a good weekend y'all._

* * *

Harry and Ginny were just about to sit down to supper when Draco stormed through the floo without so much as a by your leave. Startled, Harry leapt to his feet, reaching for his wand, before he realised the identity of their unexpected guest. The old resentment between the two men was ancient history now, but it was unusual for Draco to just turn up unannounced.

"Draco – what is it – is it Hermione?"

Draco just glared stonily at him. "Potter" he spat the name in a way that Harry hadn't heard since their bad old days at Hogwarts. Without saying another word, Draco turned and stalked out into the garden leaving Harry and Ginny looking blankly at one another.

Sighing, Harry looked out of the window, to see Draco pacing the lawn like a caged tiger. "Trouble in paradise! I think you'd better go and check on Hermione". Nodding, Ginny returned to the fireplace, disappearing in a flash of green fire. With a sigh, Harry cast a quick stasis charm on dinner, before heading out into the garden.

Draco was stood at the far end of the garden, now examining the herb garden as if he had never seen it before. With concern Harry noticed the tension in the still broad shoulders, the shaking hands, and ragged breathing. Clearly he was very upset about something. "OK Draco" Suddenly this felt so close to school, that Harry had nearly called him Malfoy. Summoning all of the last thirty years of friendship and acquired maturity to stop this becoming a duel he took a breath "You wanted to speak to me alone. Here I am. What's the matter?"

"Morrigan"

Of all the possibilities, he had not expected that. Not now. Harry sighed, this was a conversation, 30 years overdue. He had long urged Hermione to tell Draco, particularly once their relationship became serious, and had never truly understood her reluctance.

"I'm so sorry Draco."

This honesty was unexpected... "Was this your idea?" Draco was still furious, although Harry's frank apology had mollified him slightly.

Harry frowned, confused. "For Morrigan, or for not telling you the truth?"

"Both."

Harry gently took his elbow. "Come in and have a drink Draco, and we'll talk."

The two men walked back into the kitchen – Draco looked around. "What did you do with Ginny?"

Harry shrugged. "I thought that if you were here and upset, Hermione was likely to be at home and upset. Ginny went to check she's ok.

What can I get you? Tea, coffee, beer – Firewhiskey?"

Draco smiled weakly "I thought you'd never ask..."

They sat at the kitchen table, the bottle between them. Draco sighed taking a sip from his glass. "One of the things I like best about you Harry, is your excellent stock of Firewhiskey. Where do you get it from?"

Harry grinned, "Blame my disreputable Godfather, he had cases of the stuff in a corner of the cellar at Grimmauld Place. I'm still working my way through it". At the mention of Sirius's name, Draco scowled again.

"Did you know about him and Hermione?" Harry pulled a face...

"No" he said vehemently. "Believe me, had I known I would've dealt with it." Draco raised an enquiring eyebrow. Harry grinned broadly at the unspoken query. "Easy – I would have told Molly Weasley." Both men shuddered at the thought of the fallout from THAT conversation. Even the redoubtable Sirius had had a healthy respect for the matriarch of the Weasley clan.

Harry leaned forward, suddenly serious. "Draco, you have to understand after all of what happened in sixth year, after Dumbledore, I was desperate to finish it with Voldemort before he finished it with me. But Hermione was equally desperate to pull you out before it was too late. I didn't understand to be honest, and Ron knew nothing about it, but you know what she's like when she gets the bit between her teeth." He took another sip of his drink, remembering a difficult conversation by the Black Lake, so many years ago, when Hermione had revealed her plans to turn his greatest rival to their cause.

"Looking back it's quite clear that she had feelings for you already. I couldn't believe what I was hearing when she came to talk to me."

Draco smiled wryly "Did she tell you exactly what she was planning?"

Harry nodded. "I have to say that it was an image I could well have done without - and I don't mind admitting I did my best to talk her out of it. But you have to believe that, with hindsight, it was a brilliant plan. I mean look at you two."

Harry reached across the table, putting a hand on his friend's arm. "Draco, I understand that you're angry, I do. I think that Hermione wasn't comfortable telling you at first, then it got to the stage where she'd just left it too long. You've had 27 good years together, you've got four fantastic kids, and you'll have enough grandchildren for a Quidditch team in a few years time. Is it really worth throwing it all away?"

Draco sat silently, looking for the answers in the bottom of his glass... Reluctantly, he looked up, and smiled wryly. "You always were good at deflating my bruised ego Harry. Thank you."

"OK," said Harry briskly. "You've talked to me...now, finish your drink, then go talk to the person you SHOULD be talking to." With a smile, Draco stood up, finished his drink, and, briefly gripping Harry's hand, he strode back to the floo."

 _xx0xx_

Arriving back in the Great Hall, he headed back up to Hermione's study. It was empty. The box that had started all of this was still open on the table. Bending, he picked up the pile of soft silk, folding it carefully. He fancied that the robes still held the faintest hint of perfume.

He didn't hear her slip through the half open door. The first he know of her presence was when Hermione's arms slipped around his waist, her cheek resting against his back.

"Did you love her?" Her voice was soft, and sad.

He paused for a moment. "No" he answered honestly. "I didn't know her. But she saved my life, she was my first. That made her special." He turned in her arms, noticing with a pang, the unmistakable signs of tears. Every last trace of anger left him. He could never bear to see her cry.

His fingers traced her cheek and jaw, brushing the hair back from her face, loving the fact that even after all of these years together he could still make her tremble.

"I'm still hurt that you didn't tell me. But I should never have laid into you like that, that was unforgivable. It was you all the time. You saved my life, I wouldn't be here without you." He scowled "I still don't like the thought of you with Black though."

Hermione smiled. "He was MY first Draco. It wasn't right, he was too old, I was too young, and I would be appalled if either of the girls had done anything like that. But, it was a difficult time. I don't honestly think any of us truly believed that we were going to live beyond our mid-twenties. It doesn't excuse it but it does explain it a little. We were both lonely and a little lost, and he was very glamorous. We neither of us has any illusions that it would last. Weeks later, he was gone..."

Her lips were so close to his, it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity... Hermione whimpered softly, kissing Draco was something she never tired of. So lost were they in the moment and in each other, they initially didn't hear the knock on the door. When it came a second time, Draco sighed dramatically and clicked his fingers – never breaking the kiss.

The wards responded instantly to the Master of the House and the door opened.

"Hermione are you still ... Ah." Ginny Potter stood on the threshold. "When you didn't come back, I was a bit worried, but I see you ah, have your hands full."

Finally coming up for air, Hermione turned a radiant face back to her friend. "I'm fine, thanks Gin, and thank you so much for coming over, you're the best..."

Ginny smiled, "Any time, you'd do the same for me." With a smile, she closed the door softly, leaving the couple in peace.

Draco couldn't resist pausing to steal one more kiss. "Why don't you change, and I'll take you to that new Italian restaurant you were telling me about".

"I've got a better idea" his wife said wickedly. "Why don't we stay in and order room service..."

"You have all the best ideas" Draco's voice was husky, his eyes darkened. "And I know just what you can wear".

From his slim fingers dangled a certain carved garnet pendent...

Fin


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